


on guardians in imperfection

by Authoress



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, College AU, Family Problems, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Trans Character, Unresolved Sexual Tension, alcoholic!hinata, before i go further: warnings, concerned roommate!kageyama, cool stoners bokuto and akaashi, dubcon: attempted sexual encounter while drunk, gay bffs kageyama and yachi, hinata is the life of the party, recovering from a mental illness, someone pls buy kageyama 'the care and keeping of your hinata', verbal/emotional abuse, yes it's sad but there's also love and friendship and family and gay boys (and girls)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoress/pseuds/Authoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Kageyama meets him, it is in a dark, hole-in-the-wall kind of place, and he is covered in the evidence of <i>life</i>.</p>
<p>He's still not quite sure if it's a privilege or a curse to watch him fall from grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on guardians in imperfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! as is probably apparent from the tags, this is a rather serious fic that i am undertaking. it _is_ about alcoholism and parental issues (verbal and emotional abuse, pressure, manipulation), but while me and my co-creators know a lot about the latter, we are not as informed about the former. that being said, please let me know in a comment, an ask, whatever, if i am not treating alcoholism with the weight or respectfulness that it deserves. i also feel it is important to mention that this is a fic about growth. hinata's problem is not handled well (on purpose) by either of them, although the end is recovery and healthy treatment of alcoholism.
> 
> on a lighter note, although this is a serious fic, there are plenty of light-hearted moments as well! college fun, partying, and of course, pining ensue. i'd also like to thank my co-creators [**scout**](http://punkflunked.tumblr.com/) and [**sam**](http://hismajestytobio.tumblr.com/) for helping me bring this baby to life. they're as responsible for the birth of this fic as i am!

The first time Kageyama meets him, it is in a dark, hole-in-the-wall kind of place, and he is covered in the evidence of _life_.

But before that, there was Yamaguchi.

It’s on a Tuesday that Yamaguchi slams his books (all psychology texts, from the look of it) in front of Kageyama, making him jump a foot in the air. He levels a glare at Yamaguchi, but its effectiveness is ruined by the mild fear on his face and Yamaguchi’s generally infallible cheerfulness. Kageyama had thought his roommate on the shy side, but two weeks into their first semester had proven that he just needed to dig his roots in before his truly open and personable personality shown through.

“Kageyama!” Yamaguchi says with determination. His eyes are sparkling, and he flops onto the bench next to Kageyama, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close. “Have I got news for you.”

Kageyama looks despairingly at his sushi, only half-eaten. Couldn’t this wait until they got back to their dorm? The look in Yamaguchi’s eyes says no. “What,” he grumbles, hoping to deter Yamaguchi with his sourness.

Alas, the infallible cheerfulness shines through. “I have the in with some upperclassmen,” he whispers secretively in Kageyama’s ear. “There’s gonna be a rave tonight. The Crow’s Nest. You know, that super underground group that hops location each time there’s a party? I was invited and the big bosses said I could bring a plus one.”

“Me? At a rave?” Kageyama deadpans. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“You won’t be alone,” Yamaguchi whines. “I’ll be with you the whole time. And Tsukki is coming along too, you know him!” Kageyama screws up his face. “…Okay, so maybe Tsukki’s winning personality isn’t a sell. But you know, this will be good for you. The big bosses are good guys—they won’t let anything too wild happen.” Yamaguchi makes puppy-dog eyes. “You could meet someone.”

Kageyama considers the likelihood of enjoying himself in a gathering of people most likely familiar with each other or well-versed enough in the art of small talk to fit in easily with the crowd. He considers the likelihood of enjoying himself stuffed in a tiny, boiling hot room with other sweating bodies swaying half-drunk to the beat of a pop song played too loud, the stench of weed in the air. “…No thanks,” he says.

“Kageyamaaaa,” Yamaguchi pleads. “Please? C’mon, I can’t take Tsukki since he’s bringing his lab partner and I promise it’s not as bad as you think it is. There’s going to be glow-in-the-dark paint, too! I heard a bunch of the art students are showing up to do paint. Plus, glowsticks! No one can resist glowsticks.”

Kageyama perks up a little at the mention of painting. Now that he thought about it, he had heard some hush-hush talk about buying some odd paints during open studio, but he hadn’t though much of it. “Painting?” He asks.

“Yep!” Yamaguchi confirms. “That’s part of what The Crow’s Nest’s raves are famous for. Amazing glow-in-the-dark parties under blacklights and really good music. Listen,” Yamaguchi’s tone softens. “I know it’s hard for you. But trust me when I say that you’ll come to regret not pushing yourself if you don’t take opportunities like this. If things get too rough, I’ll walk you home. Promise.”

Even more so than his puppy-dog eyes, Yamaguchi’s hopeful smiles were impossible to resist.

That doesn’t mean Kageyama’s particularly happy to end up glaring a hole in Tsukishima’s smug-ass grin while Yamaguchi bounces excitedly, smushed between them. The only comfort Kageyama has is that with the massive numbers of people flocking towards a warehouse, they must be in the right place. The sun has already set completely, and the flood of college students makes others on the street shoot them wary looks and hurry along. The night air is crisp with the promise of autumn soon, and despite his best efforts, Kageyama is a little excited.

“What a scary expression,” Tsukishima snickers. “Is that your best attempt at a smile? Wow.”

“Oh!” Yamaguchi sighs, interrupting Kageyama’s retort. “Look at all the lights.”

Waving glowsticks of every color on the neon spectrum and dim blue lights indicated the entrance to the warehouse. At the door, the bouncers are dressed in brightly colored clothing and glowstick necklaces, bracelets, and wands gesturing in the door. Kageyama might have thought it funny if he didn’t recognize them from the weightlifting team. However, people didn’t appear to be going in, just milling towards the low-lit blue lights, which revealed—

“Body paint!” Yamaguchi squeaks and dashes away from his friends to get in line for one of the artists, an intimidatingly gorgeous woman with glow-in-the-dark paint tracing the lines of her full-sleeve tattoos. “Shimizu! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

Shimizu brushes a strand of hair from her face, offering Yamaguchi a small smile. “I’m just here to paint, tonight. Yuu and Ryuunosuke are paying me.” She leans in close to Yamaguchi, a look of mischief in her eyes dancing over her glasses. “I think I’m getting paid more than Nao-chan, but don’t tell her I said that.”

Yamaguchi snickers, then glances back at Kageyama and Tsukishima, two awkward and giant first-time ravers amongst smaller students who shoot them the occasional curious glance. “Mind taking care of my boys?”

Shimizu bumps her shoulder against his hip amicably. “Anything for a good friend.”

Kageyama and Tsukishima shuffle over hesitantly, wary of Shimizu’s black nails and nose piercing and cool, placid expression that looks them over, passing judgement effortlessly. “Hmm,” she murmurs thoughtfully. “Tadashi, you go first.”

He’s happy to oblige, pulling off his shirt to reveal an obnoxiously bright orange sports bra that seemed to fit in with the whole theme of neon color. Shimizu smiles again. “I like it. I’m thinking tiger stripes for you, what do you say?”

Yamaguchi quirks an eyebrow. “Only if you promise to do them on my face.”

“Of course,” she replies, dipping her paintbrush into some orange paint and beginning her work. Kageyama watches, fascinated, as the long sweeps of her brush create sweeping designs across Yamaguchi’s skin. He giggles when she gets to his stomach and she tuts gently at him, outlining some of the stripes in green and then shooing Yamaguchi away good-naturedly.

“I thought you specialized in pen and ink, Shimizu-senpai,” Kageyama notes in awe.

She gestures him forward. “I do, but body paint is a hobby of mine.” She runs fingers over where her tattoos crept up her neck. “Body modification in general, actually.”

“Shimizu-san really does have a passion for art,” Tsukishima observes quietly and earns a soft laugh in response.

“C’mere, Tsukishima,” she calls. “I’ll do you first so Kageyama can see how it’s done. You’re a painter, right Kageyama?” He nods and observes her with quiet intensity.

Tsukishima opts out of taking off his shirt, preferring to wear a tank that makes his already skinny, pale arms look even skinnier and paler. Shimizu isn’t deterred though, tapping the wooden end of her brush against her chin and making a decision. Dashes and swipes of the paintbrush coat Tsukishima’s shoulders and light across his chest. The marks take on a skeletal shape, and Yamaguchi laughs with delight when he realizes that it’s a T-rex skeleton wrapped around Tsukishima’s body. Shimizu paints a few fish down Tsukishima’s arm in the same green as Yamaguchi’s outlines and then goes to work turning Tsukishima’s face into a skull.

“Is this really necessary?” He grumbles.

“A conversation starter,” Shimizu replies. “You want to be a paleontologist, right?” Tsukishima mutters something unintelligible under his breath and allows Shimizu to finish the skull.

Then its Kageyama’s turn and he hunches his shoulders nervously. He hadn’t brought a shirt appropriate for partying, just a plain black one with some band logo that seemed wild enough to fit in with a party. Amongst other shirtless patrons, though, he stood out like a sore thumb.

“Paint a crown on him,” Tsukishima suggests, and Kageyama whips around, furious.

“No, no; it’s a good idea.” Shimizu stills him with a hand on his arm. Kageyama gives her a pained look and she squeezes his arm gently. “If it’s a demon of your past that’s bothering you, it’d be best to just own it and move on.”

Kageyama relents with a sigh. Shimizu covers her mouth to conceal a smirk. “But first, we have to do something about your shirt.”

Sputtering, Kageyama crosses his arms protectively over his body. “I’m not—! I don’t want to go shirtless—wait, what are you _doi_ —”

Shimizu pulls off her crop top smoothly, revealing a neon pink sports bra to match Yamaguchi’s. Yamaguchi whoops and laughs, high-fiving Shimizu. “That’s more like it!” He crows.

Shimizu offers her shirt to Kageyama who accepts it warily. “What do you want me to…”

“You’ll fit right in if you wear that,” she explains. “Plus, it’s my shirt so no one will bother you.”

Kageyama flushes, but sees no real alternative. He switches shirts subconsciously and shifts a little. The shirt is tight around his shoulders, but he’s not bulky enough to be extremely uncomfortable. Tsukishima guffaws in the background, but Shimizu tugs Kageyama closer by his belt loops and nods. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” Kageyama mumbles. Shimizu doesn’t say anything after that, just moves into the pink paint and crafts a design of a crown with two royal scepters behind it on Kageyama’s stomach. On his sides and down his arms, she paints feathers falling, alternating colors to create a beautiful scene.

“That should do you well,” she says. “Have fun, okay? No one here is going to judge you if you’re a bad dancer or a lightweight.”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Yamaguchi grabs both of his friends by the arms and pulls them in through the doors to the warehouse where Kageyama can hear and feel the pulse of the music, the volume rising the closer they get. The bouncers let them through with a nod, and then Kageyama is hit with a wall of heat and noise and _stimulus_.

The first thing he thinks is that the rave doesn’t just live up to the stories he had heard—it surpasses them. Across the main floor, pressed against the walls, and up the stairs to the makeshift bar, the dancefloor spread throughout the entire warehouse. The crowd wasn’t so much a group of people as it was a single living, breathing organism jerking and shaking in time to the wordless music, the occasional feral yells and screams at a bass drop the only sounds louder than the music. Even safe up on his own platform, the masked DJ swayed and danced with the music, the leader of the almost hypnotic and intoxicating movement of bodies.

Kageyama was _relieved_ that he had paint on his body, as every single person was decked head to toe in some kind of body art, glowing under the blacklights and flickering strobelights. It was _impossible_ to tell the identity of the people in the warehouse, their unpainted skin glowing an unremarkable blue-violet, overpowered by the neon of the paint. It’s jarring—the level of anonymity in the temporary club, but Kageyama welcomes it. He can hardly tell that Yamaguchi is _Yamaguchi_ even standing right next to him, and there are people grinding and dancing with each other so freely he doubts that they know friend from stranger, either.

It’s quite the spectacle. The lights and colors paint themselves onto the backs of Kageyama’s eyelids, and he’s glad that he came, even if just for the inspiration he could draw from the experience.

In front of them, two guys duel with light-up lightsabers, the taller painted as an intricate dragon and the shorter as a tiger like Yamaguchi, but much more detailed. They shout and stab at each other viciously, but with a sway that indicates that they’ve definitely been here for a while and partaken of the drinks.

“Noya-san! Tanaka-san!” Yamaguchi identifies them after a moment of squinting at their faces. “Thank you for the invite!”

The two stop their dueling at the call and brighten upon seeing Yamaguchi. They run over and embrace him, then Tsukishima, then even Kageyama, throwing taunts and shit-talking at Tsukishima and compliments to the artist at Kageyama.

“Tadashi!” Noya greets warmly. “I see you manage to drag some dudes with sticks up their asses to our gig! Good for you! Let’s see if we can’t turn them into party animals by the end of the night.” He fistbumps Yamaguchi with a grin.

“Oi, oi,” Tanaka growls. “Is that Kiyoko-san’s shirt?”

Noya gasps. “It is! Hey, plus one: how’d you get Kiyoko-san’s shirt?” They both fix Kageyama with fierce glares until he returns their glares with confusion.

“She didn’t like my shirt…?” He offers, not really understanding the hostility.

The two bosses relax. Noya nods sagely. “I see. Kiyoko-san’s blessing of protection for the young and uninitiated. She is quite the merciful goddess.”

Tanaka sighs dreamily. “If only I was young and green like this child, to be graced with Kiyoko-san’s totem of good luck and platonic caring…buuuuttt,” he exchanges glances with Noya, and in unison they say, “naaahhhh.” They whoop and high-five before running off together, Tanaka shrieking a final “enjoy the rave!” at their party, disappearing into the mass of humans.

“…Those are the bosses,” Yamaguchi explains. “They’re…eccentric. But fun to hang out with. C’mon, let’s get both of you losers a drink so that you’ll loosen up already.”

The bar is probably the least crowded place in the warehouse, most likely because the bartender is somewhat terrifying and glares at anyone who comes in too close to the bar with their wild dancing. Yamaguchi lists off what he’d like in his cocktail, something fruity-sounding and enough to make Tsukishima roll his eyes and snort. Panicked, Kageyama orders whatever Yamaguchi was having, and Tsukishima chooses some plain beer that makes Yamaguchi mimic his snort.

“Boring,” he teases Tsukishima, poking him in the side. Tsukishima grunts and doesn’t reply.

Around them, the party rages on with the swinging of hips, stomping of feet, and raised glasses in hand. Kageyama nurses his drink in an effort to conceal his nerves, now that the initial excitement had faded. Tsukishima, possibly the only person as socially awkward as Kageyama, doesn’t show a lick of anxiety, retaining that calm and cool atmosphere about him that gets a few girls looking back at him and probably devising a plan to drag him out on the dancefloor. Yamaguchi catches a stranger by the arm and asks after someone Kageyama doesn’t catch the name of. His nerves grow.

In a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of normality, Kageyama leans into Tsukishima and practically yells, “So what the hell do we even do at these parties?”

Tsukishima leans away from him in annoyance. “We watch Yamaguchi wind himself up and go, then pray no one takes enough interest in us to ask us to dance.” Kageyama feels a spike of irritation. Tsukishima might have made it _sound_ like he resented the attention, but he’s using that dramatic tone of voice that implies people usually fell over themselves to get him to dance with them.

“You say that like you know I don’t want to dance,” Kageyama snips. Tsukishima gives him a blank look.

“You’re _Kageyama Tobio_ ,” he deadpans. “When have you _ever_ wan—”

A squeal from Yamaguchi cuts Tsukishima off as a new song picks up, but it’s not the song that has Yamaguchi riled up. “ _There_ he is!” Yamaguchi points and abandons his friends to throw himself into the crowd.

Kageyama and Tsukishima follow Yamaguchi with their eyes as he disappears into the veritable mosh pit, then glance in the direction he pointed. Yamaguchi’s squeal is picked up as a roar from the crowd as two spotlights turn to point on a single rising platform in the center of the crowd. Kageyama squints. There’s someone _on_ the platform. Yamaguchi pops up again in his vision, reaching a hand up to the person on the platform who takes his hand and pulls him up.

The music hits its peak, and then the person emerges from his hunched over shadow, throwing his head back, a fiery crown of reds and oranges that shine gold under the spotlight. Droplets of sweat are flung into the crowd. He rolls his body in a sensual vision of sexuality and _life_ , and Kageyama is blinded.

His heart stops.

The guy is clad in nothing but shorts, his body paint fearless splashes of color, splatter paint covering him from calf to forehead. He moves with a purpose, shaking his hips and curling his fingers in his already mussed hair, dragging them down his neck and chest. The crowd _roars_ at the tiny dancer’s display and he _laughs_. Kageyama’s eyes are glued to the brilliance of his smile and the wild light in his eyes as he sings along to every word, his body just an extension of the beat.

At his back, Yamaguchi also dances in time to the music, grinding into the air before reaching behind him and taking a hold of his partner’s hips, pulling him close so that they move in unison, leaning their heads in and pressing their asses together as they dance, earning more than one wolf whistle. The small dancer closes his eyes and lets out a panting laugh that Kageyama can’t hear, but somehow feels deep in his bones.

He can’t tear his eyes from him. Every fist pump in the air and kiss blown to the crowd, Kageyama watches. As the next song begins, they are lowered back down slowly for the next two to take their place on the platform, but Kageyama still can’t look away from the burning _ember_ of a human being, sweat sticking to his temples and lithe muscles running down his body. Kageyama’s drink is forgotten. He probably doesn’t blink.

Tsukishima notices, of course. His grin is absolutely villainous. “I can introduce you, if you’d like.”

Kageyama snaps out of his trance, aware of the red coloring his cheeks faster than he can stop it. “N-no, that’s not…what?”

Tsukishima laps up his embarrassment. “The dancer. You really like him, don’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Kageyama spits. “You don’t know anything.”

“On the contrary,” Tsukishima replies pleasantly. “I know him very well.”

“Oh yeah?” Kageyama challenges.

“Obviously,” Tsukishima sighs, rolling his eyes. “I invited him here. Let me introduce you to my lab partner, Hinata Shouyou.”

Kageyama gapes helplessly as Tsukishima flags down Hinata and Yamaguchi in the crowd, people parting to make way for the dancers, patting them on the back enthusiastically. Hinata’s eyes light up (Kageyama’s stomach does a backflip) when he spots Tsukishima and he waves back. Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at Kageyama, mockingly.

But Kageyama can’t meet him. He’s sure he’ll die, spontaneously combust, or trip over his words (and honestly, what’s the difference), but Tsukishima has already seen how very obviously interested Kageyama is in him. _But,_ Kageyama thinks, _maybe he isn’t the type who would—_

“It would be better for him to hear firsthand from you rather than secondhand from me how much you want to bone him, right?” _Of course he’s the type who would tell Hinata._

“I _do not_ want to—”

“Oh, really?” Tsukishima asks thoughtfully. “Then you’d be fine if he went off with some other guy? He usually likes to leave with someone, and there are plenty of attractive people at this party…”

Kageyama grits his teeth in frustration, but before he can come up with a witty retort, the dancers arrive. Yamaguchi dives for an open bar stool and Hinata flops across the bar, holding up two fingers. “Two waters, please,” he groans, and well. _Fuck_. Whatever, maybe he _was_ extremely attracted to the tiny guy and his uncontainable energy. Whatever. Tsukishima wins this round. Kageyama downs the rest of his drink and immediately regrets it when he’s hit by a wave of dizziness.

“Hey, Hinata,” Tsukishima says. “I found someone for you.”

Hinata turns his head from where he’s resting it on the cool top of the bar, mushing his cheek against the wood and frowning. “Tsukishima, I told you, I really don’t want to turn down any gir—”

Tsukishima steps to the side, putting Kageyama in full view of Hinata and Hinata in full view of him. Kageyama’s eyes go wide. “May I introduce Kageyama Tobio,” Tsukishima says drily. “He practically jizzed his pants watching you dance and I suppose he’s objectively attractive, so. Mingle and be merry.”

And with that absolute _stunner_ of an introduction, Tsukishima scoops Yamaguchi up in his arms, Yamaguchi squeaking in surprise and then delight with a water glass in his hand, whooping happily as Tsukishima parades him through the crowd, most likely to make sure he is hydrated and then dance together. If Tsukishima even knows how to dance.

Right, damage control.

Kageyama anxiously meets Hinata’s eyes, then looks away. “Um,” he starts.

“My place or yours?” Hinata asks breathily.

Kageyama’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head and he takes in the bedroom eyes and lazily sensual pose Hinata turns on him, sputtering. Then, all at once, Hinata breaks the façade and doubles over laughing so hard he nearly falls off the barstool.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my god, I’m _so_ sorry, but you just looked so terrified, I had to.”

Kageyama struggles to regain control of the situation. “I-I don’t actually…I didn’t…”

Hinata waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry. I deal with Tsukishima enough to know that he’s a dick 100% of the time. And I don’t mind anyway.” Kageyama’s mind blanks conveniently. Hinata runs his eyes up and down Kageyama’s body with the ease of someone who goes to these types of gatherings often, someone who is a natural flirt, someone who is naturally outgoing. Hinata’s gaze lingers on the crown and scepters Shimizu painted on him. _Or maybe lower…_

“That’s Shimizu's shirt, isn’t it?” Hinata laughs. “You must have made some kind of impression on her.”

Hinata slides off the barstool and now Kageyama realizes that Hinata is _really_ short, probably just tall enough to reach his neck, padding barefoot and still very shirtless. Hinata reaches out fingers to brush across the design on Kageyama’s stomach and his abs jolt at the touch. Hinata smiles at the flinch. “It’s very beautiful,” he says earnestly, turning those wild eyes, of a hawk or a lion or any breed of predator, on Kageyama and burning into him, scaring away all his fear of fucking up.

“Shimizu-senpai told me to face my demons,” he murmurs, placing a hand over Hinata’s where it rests on his stomach, and Hinata’s smile grows. “I can’t linger in the past.”

“That’s what college life is about, right?” Hinata laughs softly, sliding his hand to Kageyama’s hip, his other hand mirroring the action. “Living in the moment? Making mistakes? Picking yourself up after each one?” His fingers trace Kageyama’s hipbones where they protrude over his jeans. Hinata’s eyes dilate, just a little, and Kageyama gathers the mental fortitude to rest his hand in the crook between Hinata’s neck and shoulder, brushing his thumb along Hinata’s jawline while the back of his mind is just a constant stream of _holy shit holy shit holy shit_.

Hinata leans into the touch with a hum. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, then he opens them and shoots Kageyama a sly smirk. “Did you really enjoy my dancing that much?”

“Bartender, I’ll take another,” Kageyama says by way of reply and Hinata laughs, leaning into Kageyama even further, radiating heat. The stream of _holy shit_ changes to _holy fuck_. Hinata looks up at Kageyama almost questioningly, and he swears he can feel his hand start to sweat.

“You know…” Hinata sighs. “Tadashi abandoned me pretty early, and Tsukishima abandoned you, too.”

“I don’t actually _like_ Tsukishima,” Kageyama clarifies, horrified.

Hinata rolls his eyes. “What I _mean_ ,” he says, sounding amused, “is that we should dance together. And who knows? Maybe we’ll need to cool off in a corner, no one really around, just the two of us with the boiling of our blood between us. Of course, if you aren’t as interested…”

“I was. I am.” Kageyama’s free hand jumps to Hinata’s side when he begins to pull away, tugging him in close. Hinata moves into his body willingly, all soft lips and wide eyes and skin turned a gentle blue under the lights, contrasting Kageyama’s deep indigo…

“You should probably drink that water first,” Kageyama blurts, ruining the moment.

Hinata snickers, not seeming to mind. He pulls away from Kageyama to grab his glass, and Kageyama mourns the loss of touch, mentally kicking himself. Hinata downs the water in one go, taking large gulps that make his Adam’s apple bob, and Kageyama forgives himself a little. He sips at his own drink tentatively, feeling a buzz in the back of his skull that makes him brave enough not to run from Hinata.

“So…Tsukishima is your lab partner, huh?” Kageyama asks, mostly just to make small talk.

Hinata nods and makes a face. “Chemistry is bad enough on its own, but he’s a damn piece of work. It’s funny when he mocks the professors behind their backs, though.” He takes Kageyama’s drink from him and takes a large swallow of it, tongue chasing a drop across his lip. Kageyama feels immense relief that he’s just on the side of buzzed enough not to care if he’s hard. “You know Shimizu though—what’s your major?”

“Ah, um,” Kageyama snaps himself back to reality. “I’m an art major.”

“Ooo,” Hinata murmurs, looking intrigued. “Same as Shimizu?”

Kageyama shakes his head. “Nah, my focus is on painting rather than pen.”

Hinata sighs. “Well, if _you_ had been doing the body paint, I would have picked you up earlier, you know.”

 _That’s it._ “Do you wanna dance?” Kageyama blurts, again.

Hinata nods. “Now you’re getting it,” he laughs and takes Kageyama’s hand, pulling him to the edge of the crowd. “I’ll start you out easy.” He places Kageyama’s hands on his hips and yep, Kageyama is definitely hard, feeling the muscles and the shape of Hinata’s hips. His ears and cheeks burn, even more so when Hinata exclaims that he’s “tall enough to put his hands on his hips, too, thank god, because those are some _fine_ hipbones.” Kageyama is probably doomed.

They sway back in forth to start, Hinata looking increasingly amused with Kageyama’s inexperience instead of frustrated. “Chemistry’s hard,” Kageyama notes, picking up the thread of their conversation.

Hinata shrugs. “I’m not too fond myself, but it’s a prerequisite to get into veterinary science.”

Kageyama gapes. “You want to be a vet? That’s—I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Hinata looks down at his (still) bare chest. “I guess that’s to be expected when we meet like this.”

“Why’d you choose that, though? Med school is tough,” Kageyama asks, intrigued. “Did you volunteer at animal shelters in high school or something?”

“Nothing as inspirational as that,” Hinata says, shaking his head. “I was too busy playing volleyball to go to shelters. I just like animals and I’ve been good at taking care of younger kids, so I thought caring for animals wouldn’t be too different. Thought I might be good at it…what?”

Kageyama stops swaying, gaping at Hinata. “You? You played volleyball?”

Hinata frowns, puffing up a little. “Yeah? What of it? It’s because I’m short, isn’t it?”

Kageyama shakes his head rapidly. “No, it’s just…I played volleyball, too.”

Hinata starts to glow again. “Oh! That’s an amazing coincidence! What position did you play? You’re tall enough to be a middle blocker…but I bet you’re strong enough to spike really well…ugh, I’m jealous.”

Kageyama snorts. “No, nothing lame like that. I’m a setter,” he announces proudly.

Hinata raises an eyebrow. “Setter? Really? That’s not a very flashy position…I bet it gets boring.”

They’ve stopped moving altogether, and Kageyama can feel a kind of tension rising in the air, but he’s helpless to stop it. He frowns a little. He _doesn’t get_ why anyone would think setter wasn’t the coolest position. The setter had to have the most skill, be able to devise plans on the spot while also fooling the opponent’s blockers.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you're one of those people who think that the spiker is the coolest position,” he sighs, but he can tell from the way Hinata bristles that he’s hit the nail on the head. Also, he’s fucked up. Big time.

“The spikers are the ones who score,” Hinata snaps. “They have to keep jumping the entire game, be it to spike or to act as decoys or to block. They have to figure out in a split second where to aim. They’re _clearly_ the coolest. No one talks about how amazing a certain set was; it’s always about a spike.”

“Okay, but the setter _enables_ the spikers to hit,” Kageyama argues. “They have to come up with plans and strategies that are way more complex than the split-second instinct of a spiker. They have to work so much harder than spikers.”

“What did you say,” Hinata whispers softly. Kageyama knows he’s hit a major nerve when Hinata’s hands fall from his hips, leaving cold patches on his sides, as frigid as the glare Hinata is leveling at him.

“I said,” Kageyama repeats. “That spikers don’t have to work as hard as setters. You don’t even underst—”

“No, _you_ don’t understand!” Hinata snarls. “We put in _just as much_ work as a setter does! We help make signs and have to adjust our hits so they stay in bounds—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kageyama snips. “Only those who try the hardest will come out on top.”

It probably has something to do with the fact that they were drinking. Or maybe the energy of the club that heightens their emotions, making them quick to anger. Maybe it’s the pulse of the music, urging them to do something drastic, take a stand. Maybe they’re just sick of the smell of weed in the air and want to take it out on someone. Kageyama doesn’t have time to ask.

Hinata pulls back his fist and punches Kageyama so hard he sees lights behind his eyes.

Kageyama collapses back on the crowd, the only thing keeping him upright, his face an explosion of wetness and pain. Cursing and feeling suddenly sober, Kageyama reaches a hand to poke at his nose, but winces at the instant blossoming of pain. His hand comes back bloody. He looks up incredulously at Hinata.

But Hinata isn’t looking so well either. He sways on his feet, gaze too distant to be normal. Kageyama’s instincts kick in and he jolts forward, just in time to catch Hinata as he passes out against Kageyama’s chest. He’s _heavy_ , and his breath reeks of alcohol. _So he **had** been drinking_ …

Well, even if he did sock Kageyama in the face, the sudden clarity given by the hit makes Kageyama realize that he had been acting like a dick and an elitist—the very things that had caused his isolation from his middle school and high school teams. He feels sick and horrified, and upon further inspection, it occurs to him that the sickness might be a more immediate problem, and he bolts for the bathroom, dragging an unconscious Hinata along with him. So Kageyama was a dick—but he wasn’t going to leave Hinata on the ground where he would get hurt.

Karma appears to have it out for Kageyama, though, because when he finally manages to arrive at the restroom, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are chatting right outside it. Yamaguchi spots them first, his jaw dropping in an interesting mixture of shock and disappointment. Tsukishima turns around, confused, but immediately doubles over laughing when he sees Kageyama’s bloody nose.

“Kageyama…” Yamaguchi whispers in awe and horror. “What the fuck did you—we left you alone for _twenty minutes_.” Tsukishima howls.

“I know, I know,” he grumbles. “Rub it in. But as you can see, I already got what I deserve.” Kageyama gestures helplessly at his bloody nose, still dripping. He’d taken off Shimizu's shirt and wrestled it onto Hinata halfway through his trek, not wanting to drip all over his senpai’s belongings. “And I feel kind of like I’m going to puke, so could you take care of Hinata?”

Yamaguchi kicks at Tsukishima. “For god’s sake, Tsukki. Pull yourself together.”

Tsukishima straightens up and wipes tears from his eyes. “Oh my god,” he sobs. “You are…you are the _worst_ —” Still snickering to himself, he hoists Hinata into his arms. “Noya-san and Tanaka-san have a back room; he’ll be fine.”

Honestly, Kageyama doesn’t even feel sick anymore. He has a headache and he’s miserable. He just wants to lie down and never get up again. Yamaguchi pats him on the back sympathetically. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “I’ll fix you up.”

Yamaguchi isn’t particularly gentle, using a paper towel to wipe up as much of the blood as he can, but he offers Kageyama some ibuprofen and (of all things) a tampon to block up his bloody nose. “Thanks,” Kageyama mutters, holding the tampon like a wild beast that was sure to attack him.

Yamaguchi makes a noise of frustration and practically shoves it up his nose. “You’re in no shape to be walking around,” he sighs. “That’s okay though, like Tsukki said, Noya-san and Tanaka-san have a back room with a couch; you’ll be fine.” He doesn’t mention the fact that there is only one couch.

Kageyama doesn’t notice that there’s only one couch. He registers couch, horizontal surface, and cushions, then he’s down for the count, flopped on his back and asleep not two minutes after collapsing. Tsukishima arrives a moment later, having spoken to Noya and Tanaka about the boys. He sighs.

“What do you want to do with this one?” He grumbles, shaking Hinata's dead weight a little. Yamaguchi regards the drool sliding out of the corner of Hinata’s mouth and sighs, too.

“Just…just throw him on top. If they’re going to brawl, let them do it on their own time,” he decides.

That’s how Kageyama finds himself in the morning, a _spectacular_ headache and a soreness all over his face so intense, he’s sure he broke it. He takes a moment longer to register that he’s not alone on a foreign couch in a foreign room, but that there’s a very warm and soft person draped across him. And, his memory supplies, it’s the same boy he lusted over and then made angry enough to break his nose. Great.

Kageyama lets his head flop back down, enjoying his last few moments of life before Hinata inevitably woke up and ended his. Right on cue, Hinata stirs to life, blinking slowly and yawning, burying his face in Kageyama’s bare chest—an act that makes Kageyama’s heart rate spike with adrenaline, despite everything. Then, as if noticing he wasn’t alone, Hinata’s brow furrows and he opens his eyes again. He focuses on Kageyama’s face with mild confusion.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, sounding completely and honestly baffled.

“Kageyama…Tobio,” Kageyama says slowly, waiting for Hinata’s memory to kick back in. But—miraculously—it doesn’t.

“Sorry,” Hinata apologizes with a small smile. “I had way too much to drink last night. It’s pretty much all a blur.” He takes in Kageyama’s shirtless state and the crop top he’s wearing and makes a small noise of understanding.

“Ah, shit,” he sighs. “You’re clean, right?”

“Pardon me?” Kageyama says.

Hinata gestures between them and gives him a curious look. “We slept together, didn’t we? You don’t have any nasty STD’s, I hope.”

Kageyama sputters because _no_ , he did _not_ have that kind of luck with someone like Hinata, _no_ , he was a goddamn _virgin_ of course he didn't have any diseases, and also _no_ , Hinata had been far more interested in punching his face than kissing it. “N-no, we didn’t,” Kageyama stutters. “You just…” He trails off helplessly.

Hinata huffs. “Shame. You’re quite gorgeous.” But before Kageyama can even _process_ that thought, Hinata beams at him. “Still! You’ve got to be a pretty stand-up guy to not take advantage of another dude when he’s passed out. I mean, I’m hot and you’re hot, so you understand why I thought…” Hinata laughs. “Thanks.”

“I…you’re welcome?” Kageyama settles on weakly.

Hinata crosses his arms on Kageyama’s chest and wiggles his hips to make himself more comfortable. “You’re the type of guy who’d make a great roommate, I bet! You should think about rooming with me next year—I don’t much like my current roommate.”

Kageyama could laugh at the hilarity of the situation, laugh at the hilarity of the accident of their entire _friendship_ , but Hinata doesn’t leave his side after the first night. It’s a funny story to tell—how Hinata met his best friend by waking up with a hangover on his naked chest and, no, they did not have sex, thank you very much, but Kageyama never gets brave enough to tell him the real story. Whether out of fear that Hinata would grow to hate him again or fear that the burning question _did you mean it?_ in the back of Kageyama’s mind would be answered with a whispered yes and hands warm on his hips again, Kageyama doesn’t know.

What he _does_ know is that although the life he saw in Hinata that night never truly fades, the shadow he never really noticed continues to grow and grow as well.

He's still not quite sure if it's a privilege or a curse to watch him fall from grace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ me: write normal chapter lengths  
> me also @ me: eat my ass


End file.
